


What If This Show Won a Tony?

by kittensmctavish



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Broadway RPF, Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live RPF, US Comedians RPF
Genre: Actors, Awards, Awards Presentation, Broadway, Broadway References, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, Love Confessions, Musical References, Musicals, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, We Die Like Men, tony awards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensmctavish/pseuds/kittensmctavish
Summary: The musical you wrote and star in is nominated for several Tony Awards. Will it win anything? Your husband, Bill, thinks so. But you have doubts.(Or: This was supposed to be a simple and short Bill fic, I dunno what happened.)
Relationships: Adam Driver/Joanne Tucker, Bill Hader/You, Sara Bareilles/Josh Groban
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	What If This Show Won a Tony?

**Author's Note:**

> this time of year is normally tony awards o'clock, so...kinda ran with it and elaborated a shit-ton. like, i name-drop SO MANY BROADWAY ACTORS, you guys, it's not even funny. you could probably make a drinking game out of it, but i don't recommend that. like, at all.
> 
> (also, shh, we're gonna pretend the creative arts tonys get presented at the televised ceremony, shh...)
> 
> i know precisely zero of the people mentioned in this fic. and hope to god they never Ever EVER see this.

“Can’t we just stay home?” you ask Bill.

All you want to do tonight is order takeout, curl up with Bill on the couch, and watch the Tony Awards.

But given that your musical is nominated for a good deal of those Tony Awards…

“We kinda can’t,” Bill says, finishing your train of thought.

“I know,” you sigh, resisting the urge to cover your face with your hands. A hair and makeup team left not five minutes ago to “doll you up” for the red carpet, and you don’t want to ruin their handiwork.

Then again, it’s nothing terribly extravagant or impressive; it’s pretty close to the makeup and hair you wear onstage in the musical every performance. Given that you’re performing tonight, this is more a necessity than anything. So you do know how to fix it if need be.

“Ugh…I want tonight to be over already…” It’s maybe the fiftieth time you’ve said that this week.

“I sympathize,” Bill says, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. He would know better than anyone, both from a “nominated for awards” standpoint AND a “live performance on television” standpoint. “But I’m proud of you, whether you win or not.”

“Thanks.” You place a hand over his and lean back against him, closing your eyes. “Promise you won’t abandon me on the red carpet.”

“Unless someone drags me away because they want to talk to you solo,” Bill says. “I promise.”

“I won’t let them.” You slip your hand into his. “They’ll just have to deal. Besides, it’s you; they probably won’t mind too much.”

“Think you give me too much credit,” Bill says, brushing the lightest of kisses against your forehead. “Now come on. Get into your very nice dress and we can get red carpet done and over with sooner rather than later.”

He has a point. Maybe if you hurry, you can make it through before the red carpet gets TOO crazy.

“Well, at least it’s easy to get in and out of,” you say with a shrug. Bill waggles his eyebrows and smirks at you, which prompts you to smack him lightly in the chest. “Not like that. Stop. It’s because I’m performing later tonight and you know it.”

“You suuuuuure?” he says slyly, kissing your shoulder. “Is that the ooooonly reason?”

“Bill, stop.” Sounds pretty unconvincing sandwiched between giggles as Bill presses kisses to your neck, in the spot where he KNOWS you’re most ticklish. “Okay, seriously, red carpet.”

“Yeah, okay.” Bill brushes one last kiss to your cheek and squeezes your waist before pulling away. “I should get all pretty, too. Let me know if you need help.”

With that, he leaves the bedroom as you reach for the hanger on which hangs your dress.

Looking at it both on the hanger…and then as you slip it on…you can already sense some “worst dressed” list placements or deluges of comments on your dress being way too simple or boring or safe or modest or…whatever. And yes, it was one of the less ostentatious dresses your stylist had laid out for you to choose from.

But it’s comfortable (for…you know…red carpet wear), it’ll be easy to change in and out of for performing, and most importantly, it has pockets. As all sensible dresses should.

It’s also long enough to hide the fact that you aren’t wearing heels. (Your stylist swears she’ll get you in heels one day, and you remain obstinate in your desire to wear flats. Hell, you’d wear Chuck Taylors if you felt like you could get away with it.)

“Mulaney texted,” Bill says as you exit the bedroom, eyes on his phone. “Wanted to wish you all the best and that you don’t flub any lines tonight.”

“Aw, that was nice,” you say, looking down and smoothing out the skirt of the dress.

“He also wants to remind you to thank him in your acceptance speech,” Bill says, laughing a little.

“Can you tell him to go fuck himself?” you ask.

“That’s a little harsh,” Bill chuckles, typing away.

“Fine. Tell him to get stuffed then.”

“Too late. The ‘go fuck yourself’ has already been sent,” Bill says, looking up from his phone and at you.

It’s not the first time Bill’s seen you dressed up for the red carpet. But every time, he always looks at you like it’s the first time he’s seen you in such a fashion. And this time is no exception.

“Does it look okay?” you ask. “Nothing’s…crooked or anything?” You glance down at the neckline again, the seams.

“You look beautiful,” Bill says. “The dress is nice, too, I guess.”

“You say that every time,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“And I mean it every time,” he says.

And every time, your face heats up like it was the first time he ever called you beautiful.

The buzzing of Bill’s phone kills the moment, He glances down at the screen.

“John says Annamarie wishes you all the best as well,” Bill relays. “Would you like for him to tell her to go fuck herself as well?”

“Oh my god, John…” You try to pretend to be annoyed, but the smile on your lips gives you away.

“No, tell him to tell Annamarie that she’s an angel and I’ll definitely remember to thank her in my acceptance speech.” You lean in as though to whisper to Bill. “It’s funny because like hell I’m winning anything tonight.”

“You don’t know that,” Bill play-whispers back.

“The odds are stacked against me,” you remind him. “…at the very least, I hope Sara and Josh win. They deserve it.”

“Yeah, that’s not the only thing you hope for them…”

You reach over for Bill’s tie and throw it at him. He simply catches it and loops it around his neck to start tying it.

“They’ve been dancing around each other for literal years, they like each other, they’ve both TOLD ME as much…if one of them doesn’t say something to the other soon, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

“Yes, dear,” Bill sighs in the manner of a henpecked husband.

“Oh, like you aren’t also in the ‘just kiss already’ boat,” you accuse. Bill pauses before shrugging and nodding with murmured agreement. “…you think this is how John and Annamarie felt before we got together?”

“I DO recall John’s first words being ‘oh god, fucking FINALLY’ after I told him I asked you out,” Bill says as he finishes tying his tie. “This look okay?” You walk over and reach up to adjust the knot and straighten it out.

“I SUPPOSE, in retrospect, the ‘go fuck yourself’ was a bit harsh,” you say, smoothing the tie out with your fingers. “Wouldn’t have met you if it wasn’t for him.” You look up at him and smile.

“I’d kiss you if I didn’t think your hair and makeup team would come running back over here to give me holy hell for it,” Bill says, arms settling around your waist and pulling you close against him.

“Yeah, they do seem to have a sixth sense for that…” you laugh.

“Can I kiss you when you win?”

“IF I win.”

“When.”

“Bill.”

“If you won’t believe you’re gonna win, then I’ll believe it for you.”

“Weird. Normally I’M the one saying that to YOU.”

“I know, right? I like being on this side of the conversation.”

You’re also tempted to risk holy hell from the styling team for the sake of a kiss…but instead, you brush the lightest of kisses to your fingertip before reaching over to press that finger to Bill’s lips.

“Love you,” you say.

“Love you,” he says back.

Again, the moment is broken with the buzzing of a phone. Bill glances over at it.

“Yeah, we should probably get going,” he says, letting you go reluctantly. “Red carpet awaits.”

“Yaaay,” you cheer with as little enthusiasm as you refuse to muster.

***

It’s not like you haven’t done this before. Sort of. You’ve done red carpets with Bill before, but for, say, the Emmys and the Golden Globes…for HIS work. You’ve just stood in the background as he’s been interviewed, prompted for a question or two every now and again.

But this is for YOUR show. So your roles have been switched. YOU’RE the one answering questions. And Bill…

“I’m just arm candy tonight,” he deadpans to one interviewer who tries to turn the focus on him. “I’m here to look pretty and stare at my wife with admiration.”

“He DOES look pretty,” you add, leaning into him.

Most of the red carpet talk is, of course. about the musical. And some of the interviewers are ALSO New York stage actors, if not previous Tony nominees and/or winners. So…that helps some, for whatever reason.

“‘A Bit Screwy,’” Karen Olivo relays the name of the musical to the camera quickly before turning back to you. “Nominated for several awards tonight, including yourself—” She gestures towards you. “—for Best Leading Actress, Best Book, and Best Original Score.”

“I’d argue that last one belongs solely to Sara,” you say quickly. “She wrote all the music; I wrote all the words.”

“Sara Barielles,” Karen clarifies to the cameras again.

“She’s absolutely wonderful,” you continue. “I adore her completely.” _But not as much as some others do_ , you think to yourself…

“No arguments here,” Karen laughs. “You—both you AND Sara—nominated at the Lucille Lortel Awards AND the Drama Desk Awards. Haven’t walked away with anything yet. Does that worry you for tonight?”

“Honestly, when I first wrote the show, I expected a halfway decent off-Broadway run and then that would be the end of it,” you say. “Award nominations, much less awards, never crossed my mind. I just…wanted to share a story. Then your friend LIN just HAD to go see it and just HAD to hype it up…”

Karen cackles at both the casual namedrop of Lin-Manuel Miranda and your faux annoyance.

“I do remember getting a very enthusiastic capslock-filled text from him the night he got back,” Karen says.

“I honestly don’t think that, without the hype from him, we would’ve made it to Broadway, much less the Tonys, and I don’t say that to knock anyone involved in the show, they’re all AMAZING and I adore them to bits and I hope they all win. It’s just…the competition is STIFF this year.”

“That may be true BUT…” Karen says, “…anything is possible. You could walk away with something tonight.”

“We’ll see,” you say, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Tonight could be very surprising.”

“Let’s say you do win,” Karen pushes. “Indulge me. What are you gonna say in your acceptance speech?”

“…remember when Mark Rylance won [his first](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TU9iCgGDjRI&t=2s) [two Tonys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20lm7Ow9RSY&t=2s) and, in lieu of proper speeches, he recited prose poems that also happened to make good metaphors for acting?” You point at yourself. “Bringing that back, baby!”

“Oh my god…” Karen needs to take a moment to catch her breath from laughing so hard. “I look forward to that.”

The interview wraps up very quickly after, so you can move down the line to the next person to speak to.

Some of the questions begin to repeat after a time, which eases things in your head, a little. But also, Bill’s always within reach, hand resting around your waist, at the small of your back, brushing against your wrist. Knowing he’s there helps. Even if he’s just “arm candy.”

Then there’s getting photos taken, so your full dress can be on display. They manage to pry you away from Bill for a couple of solo shots at least, but he’s close enough that he probably still appears in frame.

As photos are wrapping up, you hear someone call your name and turn to see who it is.

Approaching you as quickly as one can in a designer evening gown is Rachel Bloom, your biggest competition of the night, nominated in all the same categories as you and then some. What’s more, her musical picked up a few Drama Desk Awards, and honestly, you’re fully expecting her to clean house tonight.

“Rachel!” you greet. “You look fantastic!” She really does; burgundy is STUNNING on her.

“So do you!” she exclaims. “Everyone is just so pretty tonight!”

She then pulls you into a hug. And as she hugs you, she leans in to whisper into your ear.

“You still up for the thing?” is her question.

“Yeah, we gonna do the thing?” you whisper back.

“We gonna do the thing,” she confirms, pulling away and smiling as though she’d been whispering words of luck. “Everyone’s good to go there.”

“Can’t wait. Break a leg tonight. Can’t wait to see you perform.”

“Break a leg!” Rachel says as she dashes off to talk to someone else.

“What was that all about?” Bill asks when you walk back over to him.

“Just wishing me good luck,” you say, leaning into his side once more as his arm settles around your waist again. “Seen anyone we know?”

“I thought I saw Adam Driver from a distance, but…” Bill says. “Maybe I’m just seeing things.”

“Well, he’s nominated tonight, so that wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Oh yeah…I forgot…”

“How about Sara or Josh, seen either of them?”

Almost as soon as you ask it, several feet away, you spot Sara being interviewed by someone. Sara glances over and waves, smiling and calling your name.

“My work wife!” you exclaim, walking over to her and squeezing her.

“My work wife!” she echoes, pressing her cheek to yours.

“Sorry to barge in on your interview,” you say, though you make no move to leave.

“No, this is great! You mind if we talk to the both of you for a moment, about writing the show together?” the interviewer asks.

So you stick around and let Sara do the bulk of the talking, interjecting every now and again with a clarification or an addition to whatever she says.

When it’s over, Sara walks down the line with you.

“You look amazing, by the way,” you say.

“Thank you,” she says, tucking some hair behind her ear, smile widening as the two of you approach Bill, greeting him with a “so good to see you again!” and a quick hug.

“Great to see you, too, Sara,” Bill returns. “Have I lost my wife to her work wife for the night?”

“I think just for some pictures,” you say, noticing some photographers calling for you and Sara.

As you and Sara walk over to the cameras, you whisper, “You seen Josh yet tonight?”

“I think he got caught up in another interview,” Sara says, adjusting her skirts in preparation for the cameras. “We got separated after we got here.”

“You came here TOGETHER?” You can’t help but look over and smile at her, rather than at the cameras.

“Shush…it’s not like that,” she whispers through her smile.

“It could be,” you sing-song through your own smile. She pinches your waist, making you laugh. The photographers love it.

After a few more moments of posing, you’re preparing to walk back over to where Bill is standing when you hear voices calling for you to stay.

Because who should be approaching but the man you and Sara had just been talking about—nominated for Best Leading Actor in a Musical and your onstage husband, Josh Groban.

“Nora!” he greets you. (In one of the first interviews about the musical you ever did, you and Josh constantly called each other by your characters’ names, and the tradition has kinda stuck around.)

“Patrick!” you greet back as he pulls you in for a hug and kisses your cheek.

“I think they want photos of us,” Josh says, arm going around your waist for the pose.

“God, I canNOT get a BREAK,” you mutter through your smile, making Josh laugh.

“You look lovely,” Josh says after a few flashbulbs go off.

“Lovelier than Sara?” you ask teasingly.

“Shut up,” he returns, smiling all the while for the cameras.

“She told me you two came here together,” you say, leaning up to say it in his ear so only he can hear it.

“Just as friends,” he insists. “Not as dates.”

“You COULD be dates, if you just TOLD her…” You use the same sing-song-y tone you’d used to tease Sara. Josh says nothing in return.

Eventually, the photographers FINALLY reach their quota of pictures of you for the night, but call for Josh to stay and for Sara to join him. Face turned away from the cameras, you point Josh with a look in which you attempt to wordlessly convey, “See? Even the photographers think it’s a date” as you walk over to Bill.

“How’s handsomer me?” Bill asks.

“A Bit Screwy” is…SORT OF autobiographical. In that, there’s quite a bit you pulled from your own life when writing the script, including your relationship with Bill. While the character of Patrick isn’t a complete replica, it’s still easy to tell if one knows to look for it. And ever since Josh was cast as Patrick, Bill has always teasingly referred to him as “handsomer me” or “dreamier me” (since Josh can sing and Bill can’t…apparently, singing equals more dreaminess).

“He hates that nickname and you know this,” you say.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to YOU and not HIM,” Bill defends himself. You settle in at his side again and watch Sara and Josh smile for the cameras, standing a little closer to each other compared to their pictures from a few years ago, when they hosted the Tonys. Sara leans against Josh a little more, and Josh glances down at Sara now and again with a smile that’s just a little brighter.

“They came here together,” you whisper to Bill. He looks down at you with raised eyebrows. “They both INSIST it’s not a date.”

“Hmm…stubborn or just oblivious?” Bill asks in a moment where Sara looks at Josh and they smile at each other, almost like they’re only aware of each other in that moment.

“Both,” you sigh, resting your head against his arm.

“Well…maybe tonight something will come of it,” Bill says, running a hand up and down your arm. You look up at him and smile as he kisses your temple.

***

Having already been in the theatre for dress rehearsal, you have a vague idea of where you and Bill have been assigned to sit (Bill on the inside, of course, so you can make your escape to perform the number from the musical…but also, you know…if your name gets called and you end up winning a thing). Assigned to sit across the aisle from you is Christian Borle. So…that’s exciting.

Sara is on the end of the row in front of you, and Josh on the end of the row in front of her. Across the aisles from THEM are Taylor Louderman and Kelli O’Hara (in a weird “Peter Pan Live” reunion situation). A few rows in front of your little group is Adam Driver and his wife, Joanne.

“I told you you weren’t seeing things!” you whisper to Bill as they pass by you as they head to their seats.

“You were right,” Bill admits. “What’s he nominated for again?”

“Acting. Duh.” Bill gives you a look. “David Auburn’s new play, I forget the name.” Bill nods.

Before too long, the ceremony begins, Neil Patrick Harris taking up hosting duties once again. And like every other time he’s hosted, he CRUSHES the opening number. You can only hope whenever the camera does a quick cut to you when “A Bit Screwy” get brought up that you don’t look too terrible to the viewers at home.

The first couple of awards for plays are given out before the first musical performance of the night (Tony Kushner’s new joint…unsurprisingly, it’s great—lyrics-wise, anyway—given this is the man who gave the world “Angels in America”). Closer and closer, the award for Best Book for a Musical approaches, and when the voiceover announces TINA FREAKIN’ FEY as the presenter of said award, you immediately reach over for Bill’s hand and clutch it tight.

You barely even hear her jokes (something about how hard writing is, audience laughs, blah blah blah) before she announces the nominees. And when your name (“for ‘A Bit Screwy’”) is read and polite applause (and some cheers) are given, you manage a smile, knowing the cameras are on you. Bill squeezes your hand.

“And the Tony Award goes to…” Tina opens the envelope.

She reads your name.

Your jaw drops as the applause covers the rest of Tina’s words. You look over at Christian Borle. He gives you a thumbs-up. You look over at Bill with a “What?”

“You won!” He kisses your cheek.

You finally stand up to begin the walk to the stage, pausing to smile and Sara and Josh and hold their hands for an exciting moment. Your heart pounds more the closer you get, and above that and the applause, you can’t really hear the voiceover saying whatever about how this is your first nomination and award.

And then, right as you almost reach the stairs…

…the tip of your foot catches the front of your dress and you feel yourself toppling. And all you can think is _Great, I’m about to make a fool of myself on television…_

…that is, until hands catch you.

“Whoa, you okay?”

“Yeah, thank you,” you turn to say to Adam Driver, who raises a little to make sure you get up the first few stairs without falling. With your free hand, you hold the front of your dress away from your feet to ensure you don’t have a repeat spill.

Finally, you reach Tina, who hands you the award and gives you a quick hug and a “Congratulations!” before you turn to the microphone, running a shaking hand over your hair.

“First of all, I wanna thank Adam Driver for helping me NOT break my nose in front of hundreds of thousands of people…” you begin, pausing for laughter. You give your own awkward little laugh before gesturing over at him. “Good luck tonight, I know you’re nominated too…and good luck to everyone else in your category, I don’t wanna sound biased towards one person or another, I just…” You pause. More laughter. “Oh…you’d think someone who just won for writing would be more articulate but you’d be wrong…”

At least the audience finds it charming.

“Okay okay…” You take a breath. “I need to thank Sara, my work wife…she came to me with music that made me go ‘Oh…oh no…she needs better words than I currently have right now.’ And the script is all the better for her music. I, uh…I need to thank my wonderful fellow actors in the show, because sometimes you just don’t know if a line is good or not until you hear it spoken—then it’s either the best thing you’ve ever written or you just…need a lot of work.” You pause for another deep breath and hope you’re not VISIBLY shaking on camera. “Um, the line about the taffy pull…that line was one hundred percent John Mulaney.” Laughter. “Bill was reading some of the script to him one day, he cracked off that line as a joke, and it was better than what I had written down so I asked him if I could put it in the script. He said, ‘Sure, just remember to thank me in your acceptance speech’ and I said, ‘Yeah, that’ll never happen, but okay…’”

The exaggerated tug to an invisible tight collar around your neck following that anecdote gets another laugh.

“Speaking of Bill…” You look over to approximately where he is in the audience. “Literally this show would not be what it is without him. Every funny line in the script is there because it made him laugh very hard, and he’s the funniest person I know, so I trust his judgment. And…” You take another breath. “There are…moments in this, scenes in this, lines in this show that…I’d write and I’d give him the script and I’d sit down with him and ask him ‘Are you okay with me sharing this part of us with the world?’ He is…” You pause, blink back tears, can only imagine what the camera is capturing of Bill right now and whether there are tears in his eyes, too. “He’s the best editor I ever could’ve asked for, the best PARTNER I ever could’ve asked for, he’s my best friend—Bill, I love you SO much…” You take another breath and figure, fuck it, before finishing your speech with “…let’s make out later, okay?”

You giggle with the rest of the laughing, applauding audience before shouting out another thank you before walking offstage with Tina.

“Great speech,” Tina congratulates you, giving you a bigger hug. “And long time no see.”

“I know…oh god…did I just win a Tony?” you ask.

“Yep,” Tina nods. “Only two more to go for you and…more than that for your show.” another nervous laugh escapes you.

“I’d hoped…that if I DID win, I didn’t expect it…but I’d hoped that if I DID win, it would be for my writing,” you confess. “If I won for acting, whatever, I’m just…” You fan at your face. “Hoo boy, I’m a wreck…”

“You deserve it,” Tina says. “And I’m not just saying that because I used to work with Bill or anything like that.” You laugh. “Everything your show wins tonight, you deserve.”

“Even if this is it?”

“Come on, this isn’t gonna be the only time you’re up on stage.”

“You’re right; I’m performing later.”

“You know what I mean,” Tina scoffs.

“Also, um…just a heads-up…sort of, but…don’t get mad, okay?” Tina frowns, arches an eyebrow. “Or, like, tell Amy not to get mad okay? Or just…it was ALL Rachel’s idea.”

“…sounds like shenanigans are afoot.”

“They might be.”

You have to hand the award off to someone, so they can keep it safe through the rest of the show (and so they can engrave your name on it and get it back to you later). During one of the commercial breaks, you rush back to your seat, just in time for Taylor Louderman to start presenting Rachel Bloom and the performance from her musical.

“Proud of you,” Bill whispers, tangling his fingers with yours and kissing your cheek. You hold his hand tight rest your head on his shoulder for a moment, sitting up straight when Rachel begins to sing.

Some reviews had described the style Rachel’s musical as in the vein of “Mean Girls,” which you can see, in some respects. In others, it’s very much suited in what made “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” so great. It’s exactly what you expected from Rachel in all the best ways.

Then she breaks from the normal lyrics to take “pot-shots” at her competitors, “especially that screwy bit…ch.” You almost fall into the aisle, that’s how hard you laugh before sitting up to applaud her.

(Rachel Bloom has called you “bitch” SO MANY TIMES this awards circuit, and it’s been clear from day one that it’s a term of endearment coming from her.)

It’s a brilliant, showstopping performance, and the couple of awards it picks up immediately following (for Best Featured Actor and Actress) surprise you not at all. Nor did its wins in the technical departments (the Choreography award, in particular, is VERY well-deserved).

Best Original Score comes up following the performance of one of the revivals, and it’s time to clutch Bill’s hand again as Cyndi Lauper gives her schpiel and reads the names. When she gets to Sara and you, you reach forward for Sara’s hand with your other hand, She turns and smiles at you with the same nervousness that you feel.

“And the Tony Award for Best Original Score goes to…” Cyndi announces, pausing to open the envelope. “Sara Barielles and…”

Your name and the name of the show are drowned out by applause, and your head spins for just a moment before you IMMEDIATELY stand to hug Sara tight. You let go of her long enough to blow Bill a kiss as Josh stands to hug Sara, and then you (for not as long as he hugged Sara, you notice).

As you and Sara reach the stage, you see Adam Driver preparing to stand and help the two of you up the stairs. You cackle and shoo him away.

Cyndi hands you the first Tony and gives you the first hug. As she turns to Sara to do the same you lean down towards the microphone.

“I already said everything I wanted to, like, twenty minutes ago,” you say, pausing as the audience laughs, “so I’m gonna let Sara have her moment.” You then step away and gesture towards Sara—the REAL woman of the hour here, you maintain. Best Original Score should pertain to the music only, not the words.

“Oh my GOD…” are her first words. “Thank you so, so much…oh god, I didn’t expect this.” She reaches behind her toward you, and you immediately step forward to hold her hand. “Thank you to the American Theatre Wing, I…I’m still processing…still can’t quite believe I’m standing here holding this award…I have to thank my family, who are probably FREAKING out at home right now watching this happen…” Laughter. “I have to thank my work wife…” She tugs you forward a little bit. “I read her script and fell in love with it and knew I had to write music for her. I knew I wanted to give these characters life.” She pauses as the audience applauds and she looks back at you with glossy eyes. You squeeze her hand and smile encouragingly at her.

“Thank you to our amazing cast, who brought life to this music, and helped me find the best journeys for their voices,” Sara continues, lifting your hand a little, “ESPECIALLY the woman standing next to me, who is WAY more talented than she gives herself credit for…” You duck your head, laughing and trying not to roll your eyes. “And to Josh…” Her voice tremors the slightest bit. “I am so grateful to have had to opportunity to write songs for him and to work so closely with my best friend and…” She squeezes your hand as she looks over in his direction. “Thank you for all your talent and support and your…everything. Josh, you’re one of my best friends and you mean more to me than I’ve ever been able to tell you and…”

She cuts herself off. Whether it’s because you’re getting the “time running out” signal or because she doesn’t want to confess something on live television or because she’s about to cry, you choose not to speculate too much. But you make a mental not to watch this on YouTube to see if the camera cuts away to Josh at all, and what his expression is watching Sara speak about and to him.

“Thank you so much again for this,” she finishes, holding up the award and looking over at you. You smile, acknowledge the audience and hold up your own (second!) Tony of the night and mouth a “Thank you!” to the crowd as the two of you walk off hand in hand behind Cyndi.

“Oh my god…” Sara says again once you’re out of sight and earshot of the stage. You immediately wrap your arms around her.

“You deserve it, wifey,” you whisper into her ear. “You absolutely deserve it.”

“Oh god, what just happened?” She sounds not quite to earth.

“You just won a Tony,” you say.

“Oh god, did I really just almost tell Josh how I felt on live TV?” Sara’s happy shock of winning slowly slips into a slightly mortified shock.

“People know you guys are friends,” you assure her. “Friends can have platonic love for each other. I’m sure plenty of people will read it as just that.”

“You sure?”

“I remember Kate telling Leo how much she loved him in one of her acceptance speeches a LONG time ago. And they’ve always been adamant that they’re just friends.” You reach up to wipe away a stray tear from her cheek. “Don’t worry about it. And if you’re that worried, you can talk to him once all this is over, okay?” Sara nods with a deep breath.

“Okay,” she says.

The same people who came to pick up your first (really, you’ve won two of these?) Tony from earlier come back again, and then you’re guided to a dressing room where your costume awaits.

Because winning the award means you’re actually just in time to get changed and get ready for the performance for “A Bit Screwy.” Meaning Josh has to have started heading backstage as well. You wonder, as your hanging your dress up (so carefully, so as not to wrinkle anything or rip a seam), if he and Sara crossed paths on his way backstage and her way back to her seat. And if they did, what they talked about. If it was just a simple exchange of “Congratulations” and “Thank you” or about anything else.

He congratulates you, at the very least, with a tight hug as you rush out of the dressing room.

“I need to get to the other side!” you hiss. “But thank you! See you onstage, Patrick!”

“Love you, Nora!” he whispers back, and you give him a thumbs-up.

The music plays as Katrina Lenk (KATRINA FREAKIN’ LENK) enters to introduce “A Bit Screwy.” As she speaks, you take your place onstage in the darkened stage lights and wait for the music that cues your first line, assuming the posture and mannerisms of your character, Nora.

“I met Patrick at a party,” you say to the audience. “A friend had invited me, and…HIS friend had invited HIM. Said friends invited us under the pretense of playing matchmaker but…things didn’t quite work out as they had hoped.”

The music builds as you speak, growing louder, and then it’s into the song itself. The song, and the party scene itself, continue to build in a crescendo, picking up to a more frantic tempo as well. To a point where you feel like you can barely keep up with the number of syllables you need to be singing in any given measure (the effect you and Sara had gone for).

As the set spins slowly on a turntable, indicating a change in location, you run to a door and yank it open, running on to the set of the room now facing the stage—a bedroom on which a bunch of coats are piled up—slamming the door shut behind you. The orchestra, with the slam of the door, lowers their volume to such that they’re almost barely audible. Much in the same way loud music would sound through a closed door.

The one exception would be a timpani, keeping a steadily unsteady beat reminiscent of a quicken heartbeat, as Nora paces the room and presses herself against a nearby wall in the throes of a panic attack.

(You’d been asked if “the panic attack song,” as it was nicknamed by some, was REALLY the song you wanted to perform at the Tonys. And you figured, well…you probably wouldn’t have to fake it too hard given the larger audience you’d be performing for so…it’d probably just be easiest on you.) (And really, acting out a panic attack or two night after night, with a matinee here and there, wasn’t as daunting or exhausting as expected…if anything, it was slightly cathartic.)

As the door opens, the orchestra picks up for that little moment before the door shuts again and they fade into almost-nothing. Patrick, Josh’s character, takes off his coat, pausing as he spots you.

“…you okay?” he asks. You shake your head but can’t speak. After he drops his coat on top of the pile, he turns towards you and walks over slowly.

As the next few moments play out, Patrick manages to talk Nora down from the worst of her panic attack, if only by a little.

“Do you need me to find anyone for you?” Patrick asks, poising himself to leave.

“No! No—” Nora says almost frantically, reaching for Patrick’s hand. “Just…please stay…?”

“Yeah…okay…” Patrick says, settling back into position. “Not going anywhere.”

“Sorry…”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you mind just…talking…just, about anything…distraction…” Nora’s words are a little fragmented, strained, but not as much as before.

That leads Patrick—or rather, Josh—into his first song. Which is the second reason you chose this scene for the Tonys. Because the song where Patrick calms Nora during their first meeting is one of your favorites Sara wrote for the show.

When you and Sara had been putting the songs together, you explained to her how you and Bill had met. That Annamarie had invited you to a party, and John had invited Bill to the same party. Unfortunately, your anxiety had already been at an all-time high and you’d had to duck away to fight through a panic attack in private. Bill had walked into the room accidentally and found you in that state and, with his own history of anxiety and knowing that panic attacks suffered alone are hell on earth, stayed with you and talked you down from it.

You’d thanked him, exchanged pleasantries, rolled your eyes when he said you were beautiful (because let’s face it, you were a tear-stained, red-eyed mess thanks to the panic attack). The two of you had exchanged names and numbers, and then you left to find Annamarie so she could introduce you to someone she really thought you were going to like and get along with really well.

Turns out, she’d wanted to introduce you to Bill. And John had wanted to introduce Bill to you. So they were a bit dumbfounded when, upon seeing each other, you and Bill burst out laughing.

You’d tried to accurately put into words for Sara what that first interaction was like, that first meeting, and how a stranger could so instantly understand and find the best way to calm you down and not think less of you or think you a freak for it. How, even if you weren’t fully conscious of it at the time, you’d fallen a little in love with him from that first meeting.

You were pretty sure you hadn’t explained it very well. Until Sara played you the first draft of the song.

She freaking NAILED it. The way Josh sings it every time is so soft and smooth and calming and utterly CHARMING, and it sparks in you everything you could remember feeling in that night you first met Bill.

It was one of the scenes and songs that had you more nervous than anything when first showing it to Bill. You were terrified he would hate it, or want it removed from the script. His only complaint in the end (played so obviously as a joke) was “Well, I didn’t sing because I CAN’T, so THERE’S a point against it…also Josh is, like, WAY dreamier than I’ve ever been.” So in the end, the scene got to stay in.

And it all plays out so beautifully as a scene, even with some dialogue shortened or lyrics cut for the sake of time for the broadcast. The performance seems to almost blur by with a blink before the scene comes to an end to cued, but no less enthusiastic, applause.

As the camera goes to commercial and you and Josh exit, the two of you take a moment to just hug things out. After all, there is a big difference between performing for a room of up to 500 people and performing for hundreds of thousands of people.

You both change quickly out of your costumes and back into your finery, meeting up at the same time to walk back to your seats. You’re a little tempted to ask him if he ran into or talked to Sara at all before the performance, but you bite your tongue to refrain from doing so. There are only a few more awards and one more performance before Best Leading Actor and Actress in a Musical get announced, and that tension seems to be sinking in.

The both of you rush back to your seats during a commercial break, with just seconds to spare before things kick back into gear.

“Can’t wait until this is over so I can say all the stuff I want to say to you about everything tonight,” Bill whispers.

“Good and/or bad?” you whisper back.

“What do YOU think?” Bill asks, giving you a pointed look. You just squeeze his hand and snuggle into his shoulder a little bit.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Adam Driver wins the Tony for Best Leading Actor in a Play for that new David Auburn work.

To the surprise of absolutely EVERYONE, he starts his speech by thanking YOU (“for all her support and belief in me”) as a callback to your first acceptance speech. He does not bat an eye at the laughter. “That really meant a lot.”

You’re certain the camera gets a VERY lovely angle of you laughing so hard you almost cry. (Of course, the thanks get serious after that, but boy, does that throw you for a loop. You kinda hope you end up running into him and his wife at the afterparty you and Bill are slated to go to, because you kinda want to give Adam what for for that.)

Another award and another performance later, the time for Best Leading Actor in a Musical arrives, with the onstage arrival of Laura Benanti. The names get announced (and not to doubt Josh, but you’re thinking Norbert Leo Butz COULD walk away with the Tony by sheer virtue of the fact that he’s Norbert Leo Butz and the American Theatre Wing LOVES him), and when Josh’s name is called in the list of nominees, you see Sara place a hand on his shoulder. If you’re not mistaken, he reaches up to cover her hand with his.

“And the Tony Award goes to…” Laura opens the envelope. “…Josh Groban for ‘A Bit Screwy’.”

You’re pretty sure Sara is the first one to start cheering as Josh looks down for a minute, stunned, before standing. You’re out of your seat at once to hug and whisper congratulations to your “fake husband.” When he’s done hugging you, his arms go around Sara and he doesn’t let go for a while (and you can’t tell if he’s whispering in her ear or kissing the side of her head). But eventually, he does get up on the stage, accepting the award from Laura and approaching the mic.

“I really did not expect that,” he starts. “Wow…to the American Theatre Wing, thank you for this. The producers, the rest of the cast, the orchestra, our director, our crew. The writer, a.k.a., my Nora.” He gestures over to in your direction, which prompts applause.

“I LOVE YOU, PATRICK!” you cheer, garnering some laughs from Josh and others.

“She makes it very easy to fall in love with her over and over again…I accidentally said that in front of Bill once and then panicked until he said ‘Oh no, we’re in complete agreement over that.’”

“Oh my god…” Bill laughs, ducking his head a little as the audience laughs.

“My family’s watching from home,” Josh continues, “and I want to thank them for just…always having my back and supporting me through the journey that led me here.” He pauses and smiles. “I can’t forget Sara, I could never forget Sara…” His eyes go to her. “If I’m this good in this role as a singer, it’s because of the music she wrote. I’m truly lucky to work with her in this show and to have her in my life and…Sara, I adore you. Thank you for everything.” You reach up to place a hand on Sara’s shoulder as the music begins to play and Josh walks offstage.

With his exit comes no time to process the magnitude of what just happened for a: the show and b: Sara. Because Lin-Manuel Miranda is walking on to present the award for Best Leading Actress in a Musical.

“These women make us laugh, cry, and laugh so hard we cry,” so reads one of Lin’s lines, sandwiched in the middle of some others that you don’t really pay attention to because you’re waiting... “Here are the nominees.”

As he reads Rachel Bloom’s name, from the other side of the theatre, you see Rachel stand and walk up to the stage and stand on the other side of Lin. As the audience laughs and cheers, she gives Lin a smile before exaggerating deep calming breaths.

If anyone had forgotten about the stunt [Amy Poehler and the other Best Lead Actress in a Comedy Series pulled at the 2011 Emmys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0g6xJ-qUe0&t=244s) (in the vein of a similar stunt [Tim Conway pulled at the Emmys, like, 35 years prior](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnHQ5vz2S-o&t=49s)), they’re remembering it now.

At dress rehearsal, Rachel had brought it up. And before she could even properly suggest pulling a repeat of the stunt, as soon as you saw where she was going by even mentioning it in the first place, you immediately said “I’m in” (followed shortly by the rest of the Best Leading Actress nominees).

“Yes, we’re doing this,” you say quickly and quietly to Bill when he looks over at you. “When my name gets called, fistbump me, but don’t look at me when you do.”

“Got it,” Bill says, trying to calm himself in time.

Lin, for his part, maintains his composure as best he can and looks back at the teleprompter to read the next name…which is yours.

You keep your face expressionless and present a fist to Bill. After the tap of his knuckles against yours, you stand up and tug your dress up as though it’s slipping down your chest and risks showing TOO much. You hear Sara laughing as you walk past her while motioning for Rachel to “Bring it,” reaching over and high-fiving Adam Driver as you pass him.

“BITCH, GET OVER HERE!” Rachel calls as you approach the stairs, which gets lost in the laughter and cheers of the crowd and Lin’s surprised laugh as you approach Rachel, taking one of her hands and clutching it like a lifeline, fanning yourself with your other hand.

Sutton Foster pretends to rub lipstick off her teeth before standing and beaming as she ascends the stairs, taking your hand and giving it an excited little squeeze.

Denée Benton is called next, and she gives an excited little scream as she stands before striding up with confidence, taking Rachel’s outstretched hand and exchanging cheek kisses.

Audra McDonald pretends to look utterly shocked, mouth agape, a hand placed over her heart as she approaches, settling next to Sutton and taking her hand with both of hers.

Phillipa Soo kisses her husband on the cheek before standing, threading her fingers together and stretching her arms out as she cocks her neck from side to side before walking up to join the line and take Denée’s hand.

And with the line of nominees complete, all clinging to each other like nervous pageant contestants, the crowd applauds louder. Lin stretches an arm out to the row of you before he starts clapping, which prompts a standing ovation. Beside you, Rachel continues the act, raising her hands clutched with yours and Denée’s. You adjust your grip on Sutton’s hand and take your own breath, keeping up the act as well.

“Ladies…” Lin says when the applause finally quiets and the audience sits down. “You are all incredible, beautiful, talented women, and truly deserving of this honor.” A ripple of laughter. Out of the corner of your eye, Sutton leans her head against yours a little for just a moment before straightening up again.

“And the Tony Award goes to…”

Your grip on Rachel’s hand tightens, as does her grip on yours.

Lin calls your name. And your mind collapses.

Were it not for Rachel immediately scooping you into a hug, your knees would have given way into a faint. All you can do is mouth “What?” as Rachel hands you off to Sutton for a hug, whispering “Bitch, you won!” and sounding not even a bit mad about it.

You get passed along to receive hugs from Audra, Denée, and Phillipa, finally reaching Lin, who briefly hugs you before handing you the Tony. And then a bouquet of flowers is handed to you by Rachel before she reached behind you to place a tiara on your head. And all you can do is let is happen as the audience laughs and applauds and your fellow nominees—some of the most seasoned Broadway-winning women among them—applaud you as though you deserve it.

“Hey, American Theatre Wing, are you freaking kidding me right now?” are the first words you say into the mic, mouth still a little agape as the audience laughs. “I…what JUST happened? THANK you. I…I want to share this with my fellow actresses up here. I’ve admired them for so long and even just standing up here with them is an honor in itself. I—oh god, I share this with my understudies and my standbys—” You name them quickly and breathlessly. “—if you EVER come to see the show and I’m not there that night, you should NEVER be disappointed to see one of them perform, the women who share this role with me are INSANELY talented.” Your fellow nominees are the first to applaud the recognition of your understudies and standbys.

“I have to thank the producers of the show, SAM, our wonderful director, everyone in the orchestra, the cast—” You rattle off the names just as quickly as before. “—Sara, my work wife, Josh, my onstage husband, his understudies and standbys, my other onstage husbands—Bill, my REAL husband, I love you more than ANYTHING. Rain check on that making out thing, I’m gonna be a little emotional the rest of the night.” Laughter and more applause.

“I want to thank Antoinette Perry for just…EXISTING,” you continue. “Without her, none of us would be here right now.” Pause for some applause. “I want to thank my parents—they’re probably asleep right now but they’re in for a hell of a surprise when they wake up tomorrow. I—oh god, I am…almost CERTAINLY forgetting people I’m supposed to be thanking…” Laughter. “So…I’m gonna thank Adam Driver again for thanking him for thanking me, in a weird ‘Inception’ of thank you’s…” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Adam laughing, and you “point” at him with the bouquet as best you can.

“…doesn’t feel fair to thank Adam Driver again for the sake of comedy and NOT thank my husband again because he’s the actual best, so Bill…” You pause, looking in Bill’s direction as the audience laughs. “Normally, this is the opposite—he’s up on stage with an award in his hand that he didn’t expect to win but I knew he would win and I’m sitting in the audience all proud. And…Bill, you’ve been the best support system through this entire journey and…I feel like I’m always trying to find the right words to perfectly encapsulate just how much I love you and how much you mean to me and…I haven’t quite managed it yet, I don’t think, but I’m sure as hell gonna keep on trying.”

The “get the hell off the stage” music begins playing, so you raise the Tony a little and shout out another “Thank you!” to the audience, becoming lost in the sea of arms of your fellow nominees as you all walk off, deluged once more in congratulations and “so proud of you’s” and such.

You’re only barely able to hand the Tony off to the same person from the previous two times and bolt back to your seat in time for Best Musical to be announced and close out the ceremony. Presented by brilliant bald Broadway icon Michael Cerveris.

And out of all the things you didn’t expect to happen tonight (and there was a PLETHORA of things you didn’t expect to happen tonight, Michael freakin’ Cerveris announcing your musical as the winner of Best Musical was…like, at the TOP of that list of things.

But sure enough, that happened. And thank CHRIST the producers give that acceptance speech because you’re pretty much out of words. All you can do is hug your fellow actors, the orchestra members, everyone involved. You manage to break Sara and Josh up from a tight hug to hug them, but you also feel a little bad for interrupting their moment.

***

Following the ceremony itself come a few interviews. Like…post-winning awards interviews. About how it feels to win for what and the what now and such.

“How does it feel to make history?” you get asked at one point.

“…make history?” you ask, confused.

“With your wins tonight, you’ve become not only the first woman in Tony Award history to win for both writing and performing, but also the first woman to do so for the same show. AND the first PERSON to win for writing and performing for a musical.”

“…really?”

“Yes; the only other person to win for writing and performing for the same show was Harvey Fierstein for his play ‘Torch Song Trilogy.’”

“…well fuck me, I think my career PEAKED tonight,” you exclaim to much amusement from those interviewing you. “There’s NO way anything else I do as a writer or actor that will surpass that feat.”

***

You and Bill had already arranged ahead of time to carpool with Sara and Josh to the same afterparty, regardless of wins or losses.

Of course, before piling into the car, some time was taken to hug it out, more for yourselves, but also for the lingering cameras.

You pile into the back seat with Bill (as carefully as possible, so as not to ruin your dress). Almost at once after you buckle your seatbelt, you tug the sleeve of Bill’s jacket to get him to scoot closer so you can use his shoulder as a pillow.

“Wake me when we get there,” you inform the car before closing your eyes. A puff of breath tickles your forehead as Bill laughs.

“Winning is exhausting, isn’t it?” he teases. You open your eyes to peer at him through your lashes.

“You’d know that better than I,” you tease back.

“Fair enough,” Bill concedes, kissing your forehead as you close your eyes again, smiling a little at a following press of a kiss to your cheek. You breathe in deep and let it out in a long sigh.

It’s been…a night. And boy, are you glad Mondays are dark days in the theatre world because tomorrow’s probably going to be when every emotion from the night hits in full, and you’re not going to want to do much of anything except sleep in and later consume your weight in pancakes. Pancakes sound AMAZING right now.

You’re about to voice your sudden craving for pancakes (maybe the lot of you can skip the afterparty in favor of a 24-hour diner that serves pancakes…and you include the driver in that group) when you hear Sara saying something to Josh. Loud enough for you to know a talk is happening, but not loud enough for you to tell what is being said.

If you interrupt now, it’s likely those two will NEVER get their shit together (or just…get together). So you remain quiet and feign your little pre-afterparty rest as the quiet confessions continue.

That HAS to be what’s going on. You can only guess based on when speaking seems to stop and start. Based on the changes in pitch and the slight raise in hopeful tones. Based on the all-too-familiar beats in the rhythm of what’s being spoken. Resembles the same patterns as Nora and Patrick’s confessions onstage…or when you’d first told Bill how strongly you felt for him and how much it scared you…

Then you straight-up hear Josh say something about not wanting their first kiss to be on live television, how that wasn’t fair to Sara…

…you can’t hold back a smile at that. Besides, Sara and Josh probably only have eyes for each other right now. (Or they’re kissing. You hope they’re kissing.)

Eventually, Bill nudges you to “wake you up.” The afterparty awaits.

***

The afterparty is also FREEZING. And your dress is STRAPLESS. And your arms and shoulders are COLD.

So Bill, being the gentleman he is, doffs the jacket of his suit for you to wear.

Given that he’s taller than you and therefore has longer arms than you, you’re kinda swimming in it, hands hidden by the sleeves and such. But it’s warm and smells like him and it’s warm and it’s surprisingly not uncomfortable for a suit jacket and has it been established that it’s warm? Because it’s warm.

Adam Driver is at the same afterparty. He is a delight.

Joanne, his wife, is also a delight. And also swimming in her husband’s very nice jacket. Because award show dresses are sometimes bullshit.

The two of you bond instantly over said husbands’ jackets and said bullshit dress commiserations. You further bond over having husbands who are more famous than you, and also discuss working with said more-famous husbands in the rare instances where that has happened in each of your respective careers.

“Bill’s asked before if I’ve ever wanted to cameo on ‘Barry’ or try out for it, same with a couple other things he’s done, and I’ve always said no,” you explain. “Then we watched ‘The Report’ and…”

“Oh no,” Adam mutters, getting Bill to snort.

“You know that scene…” you continue to Joanne, “…where your character tells his character that he and his work are garbage?” She nods. “I looked over at Bill and told him I would only work with him on a thing if my character got to tell him to his face that he sucks and so does his work.”

“I mean, you already tell me that…” Bill mutters, with enough of a smirk to show he’s kidding.

“You shush,” you say, nudging him, jumping a little when he pinches your waist as he wraps an arm around it.

“How about the stage?” Joanne asks. “Would you ever want to be in a play together?”

“I know live theatre’s not really his thing when it comes to acting,” you say, looking back at Bill. “I’d never force you…unless it was, like, perform a scene for charity or something, then maybe I’d have to try and twist your arm.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t need to, if it was for charity or something, hell yeah,” Bill says. “I’d do that for you and with you.”

“Hmm…” Joanne glances back briefly at her husband before smiling at you a little slyly. “May take you two up on that in the future…” Bill must look confused because she begins to explain further. “We founded a nonprofit several years ago—Arts in the Armed Forces. It delivers theatre to active-duty service members, veterans, their families, and we’ll put on performances for them—plays, a series of monologues, things like that.”

“Essentially, we might get in contact with you and see if you want to participate in a performance some time in the future,” Adam says.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” you say with a nod. “That would be an honor.”

“Is singing involved?” Bill asks with joking trepidation.

“Well, NOW it is,” Adam snarks. “Just for you.”

“Watch yourself, Driver,” Hader snarks back. “Think you can thank my wife in your acceptance speech and get away with it?”

“Well, your wife thanked me twice in HER acceptance speeches.”

“Her thanks to YOU were JOKES; her thanks to ME were quite sincere.”

“I mean, I DID help her from tripping and falling. YOU could thank me for that if you wanted.”

“How ‘bout I thank your wife instead?”

You glance over at Joanne, and the two of you share an exasperated look and suppressed smile over your husbands.

“You know, we can leave,” you suggest, pointing at yourself and Joanne. “Let you two finish squabbling.”

“We’re not squabbling,” Bill says innocently. “Why would you say we were squabbling?”

“Because you were absolutely squabbling,” you say. “Joanne, weren’t they squabbling?”

“Hmm…” She holds up her thumb and pointer finger, a small amount of space between them. “A little bit, yeah.”

“That was not squabbling,” Bill insists. “That was…” He glances over at Adam. “Driver, back me up here.”

“I admit to no squabbling,” Adam says. “Bantering, maybe.”

“Yes, that’s all it was,” Bill agrees. “Banter.”

“Yeah, I’ll show you banter when we get home, mister…” you grumble.

“Ooh…is that a promise?” Bill asks, eyebrow raised and grin sly.

“Oh, I think I see David waving at us,” Joanne says suddenly, looking over at Adam and inconspicuously pointing at someone in the distance. “We should probably go be sociable with him.” She reaches up at the lapels of the jacket she’s wearing. “You want this back?”

“Nah, you keep it,” Adam says, brushing a whisper of a kiss to Joanne’s brow. “Looks better on you.” Joanne smiles up at her husband, cheeks a little rosier than before.

“Congrats again, Adam,” you say, reaching out to shake his hand, then Joanne’s. “And lovely to meet you, Joanne. Keep in touch about the AITAF.”

“Congrats to you, too,” Adam says, shaking your hand, then Bill’s. They soon depart for another area of the party.

“They’re nice,” you sigh, turning around in Bill’s arms so you’re facing him now. “I’m glad I thanked him so many times.”

“That gonna be a thing for you now?” he asks. “You’re just gonna thank him in every future acceptance speech?”

“Well, that implies I’ll ever win anything else in my life.”

“Come on.” Bill squeezes your waist. “We both know you probably will.”

“Think you’re talking about yourself, babe,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Hmm…you know, Driver had a point…”

“About what?”

“Just…you look better in my jacket than I do.”

It’s your turn to pinch HIS waist.

“You cut quite a dashing figure yourself in this jacket,” you say, “and you know this.”

“Yeah, well…I like looking at your figure more.”

“In your jacket?”

“In it, out of it, I’m not picky.”

“Bill…” you warn as his hands stray a little, reaching out to take them in your own.

“What?” he says coyly. “I’ve got a gorgeous, award-winning, history-making wife in my arms and in my jacket. Kind of a turn-on.”

“You’re ridiculous. Also, we’re in public.”

“Like that’s ever stopped us or anyone else from canoodling. I mean, look.”

Bill tiles his head towards the area of the floor where couples are dancing. True, some couple are a bit more…canoodle-y than others, to use Bill’s word.

You spot Sara and Josh hidden among the couples, Josh whispering something into Sara’s ear, She smiles, laughs a little, face aglow with happiness and love. You smile as Josh pulls Sara in more as they dance slowly.

“BITCH, THERE YOU ARE!”

You jump out of your couples-watching as Rachel bounds up to you, drink in hand, pulling you away from Bill.

“There’s the trailblazer!” she toasts. “Been looking all over for you.

“Oh god, Rachel…” you laugh in exasperation. “That should have been you to trailblaze, honestly.”

“Hell no!” Rachel insists. “Bitch, you had it in the bag. Knew it the moment you performed.”

“Can’t you even pretend to hate me even a little for winning over you?” you ask.

“I mean, I won over you at the Lucille Lortels and the Drama Desk Awards so…” She shrugs. “Besides, all I do every performance is sing and dance and snark. You have a friggin’ panic attack every night. I could never. I commend you for that.” She toasts you again. “Can’t imagine anything worse than that.”

You glance up, thinking for a moment.

“…performing [‘Heavy Boobs’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aZx5zfkG6oU&t=27s) night after night and with the occasional matinee?” you suggest.

“Oh GOD…” Rachel winces and reaches up to rub at the side of one breast. “That hurts to even IMAGINE.”

‘Can you imagine…?” you can’t help but sing.

“Listen, bitch…” Rachel starts.

“It’s a good thing I know ‘bitch’ is like an affectionate nickname and you don’t really mean it and it comes from a place of love,” Bill interrupts, “otherwise I might have to throw down, Bloom.”

“You think you could take on all of this, Hader?” Rachel says, gesturing at herself.

“Bill, if you’re gonna squabble with everyone we talk to tonight,” you begin.

“BANTERING. Like Adam said, it was bantering.”

“I refuse to accept ‘bantering.’ ‘Quibbling,’ MAYBE. But I stand by my use of ‘squabbling.’”

“What would you call this discussion? Squabbling, bantering, or quibbling?”

“Get a room, that’s what I’d call it,” Rachel offers before sipping her drink. “Nah, but Bill…” She throws an arm around your shoulders. “How proud are you of this lady after tonight?”

“I mean, incredibly, but…I’ve been proud of her since I read the first draft, so…” Bill shrugs. “Comes naturally.”

“Aw…you two…” Rachel says. “What’s been your favorite moment out of this whole crazy journey for her? Like, tonight when she won all the things and made the history? Opening night of the show? When Lin sang it praises on Twitter?”

“…definitely [her performance with the Skivvies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8V2VVtNv9sY),” Bill says after a moment of thought. Rachel cackles. You roll your eyes.

“I’m REALLY not surprised by that answer,” you sigh.

“How about you, babe?” Rachel asks, turning to look at you. “Favorite moment?”

“You know what I WISH I could say it was?” you say. “Getting to show up on ‘Oh, Hello’ and do ‘Too Much Tuna’.”

“Oh my GOD,” Rachel exclaims. “YES.”

“Just…try to throw Mulaney off his fucking game,” you say, clenching a fist.

“Bitch, we should revive it,” Rachel says, pointing between the two of you. “After our shows right now. We revive that shit. You be the George to my Gil.”

“Dude, I’m so in,” you agree, high-fiving her.

“I think Mulaney’s gonna have some things to say about that,” Bill says.

“Tell Mulaney he can shove it,” Rachel says.

“I mean, I already told him to go fuck himself before red carpet so…” you inform her.

“Can you still tell him to shove it?”

“I often do.”

“Excellent.” Rachel kisses your cheek. “I’m gonna go schmooze with others. But congrats again, bitch.”

“Thanks, bitch,” you return the affectionate nickname and cheek kiss. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

After she leaves, you and Bill take a moment to finish your refreshments before heading out to the dance floor, to share a little sway to a slow song.

For all Bill says he can’t sing, when it’s a song he knows and he hums or sings it softly in your ear, as though the words were meant for you and only you, his voice is the sweetest you’ve ever heard. It’s almost enough to make you forget everything that occurred beforehand, and that you’re just…sharing a dance…a little moment between the two of you…

…of course, it’s NOT. There are several other couples, not to mention the flashes of cameras getting candid shots for articles about afterparties.

At some point, you find Josh and Sara on the floor, and switch partners, Bill taking Sara for a spin around the floor, and you sharing a dance with your stage husband.

“So…how’s Sara?” you ask.

“Good. Great,” Josh says, giving nothing away.

“…you two having fun dancing?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“…did I tell you, or did I tell you?”

“You told me.”

“And?”

“It worked out like you said it would.” You smile up at him. “Don’t give me that smug look.”

“You two were metaphorically dancing around each other for years. Now she’s literally dancing in your arms,” you say.

“First of all, YOU’RE dancing in my arms right now,” Josh points out.

“First of all, YOU need to stop with the sass,” you fire back.

“Oh my god…” Josh says nothing else, but lets the music play for a bit. “Tonight’s been kinda crazy.”

“Yeah,” you agree.

“…proud of you, Nora.

“Proud of you, Patrick.”

There’s a scene in “A Bit Screwy,” where something sort of similar plays out. A song comes on, and Patrick pulls Nora up from her chair, and the two sway together in a sweet silence. Something Bill has done often enough—when dating, when engaged, when married—and it’s something you do often enough with Josh onstage. So…it’s familiar. Easy. A little calming with all the pageantry of tonight.

You take the last couple of minutes of the song to close your eyes and let…everything wash over you. Everyone you’ve talked to tonight, on the red carpet, in the theatre, at the party. Every award. Every speech. Every question answered. Just what you managed to achieve with your show…how right now, someone’s probably editing various Wikipedia pages about what’s been accomplished tonight. Wondering what pictures will be published tomorrow, what articles, what videos. How many interviews people will ask you to do in the wake. Brief wondering if the show’s run will be extended, if tickets are gonna be harder to get.

It’s…a lot…and it’s a little exhausting.

“Think she’s falling asleep on me,” Josh says.

“Hmm?” you open your eyes and lift your head, only to feel another hand on your arm as Josh hands you over. You look over at Bill.

“Ready for home?” Bill asks. You nod before smiling over at Sara, reaching over to hug your work wife.

“So happy for you,” you whisper. “In many respects.”

“Shush,” she whispers back. “Happy for you, too.”

“Did you wanna head out, too, Sara?” Josh asks.

“…sure,” Sara says, smiling up at him, accepting his hand.

As the four of you arrived together, the four of you leave together.

If you’d pretended to nap on the way to the afterparty, you actually do conk out on the drive home. You’re aware of Bill talking to Sara and Josh about something as you lean back in the seat and close your eyes for just a moment, you swear…and then Bill’s gently shaking your shoulder and whispering that the two of you are home.

“Mmm…” you stretch. “Didn’t get to say good night to Sara and Josh.”

“They’ll forgive you,” Bill says.

You at least say good night to the driver, thanking him again and making sure payment went through (adding an overgenerous tip).

“Oh…” you look down after the two of you walk through the front door. “Forgot to give this back to you.” You shrug off the jacket and hand it to Bill.

“That’s okay.” Bill takes the jacket and sets it on the chair before cupping your face with a hand and kissing you.

You’re still sleepy enough that you stumble a little, but Bill’s arm tucking around your waist steadies you as his lips press firmer against yours.

“Been wanting to do that all night,” he whispers before kissing you again. You bring one hand up to rest against his neck, thumb stroking just beneath his jaw.

“Is this ‘cause I said ‘let’s make out later’ in my first speech?” you ask before kissing him lightly again.

“Nah, you said rain check on that,” Bill says. “This is just ‘cause you’re beautiful…and your stylists would’ve killed me if I’d ruined your makeup any earlier than now.”

“I mean…kinda ruined that myself with all the sweating and crying,” you point out.

“Yeah, well…” Bill kisses you again. “Worth the wait.” You smile up at him.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you.”

If you weren’t so emotionally and physically exhausted, you’d say to hell with the rain check and get to the making out. But a yawn stops any further kissing.

So instead, the two of you rid yourselves of your finery (and hand it back on the hangers, like good adults), go about your nightly ablutions, and collapse into bed, sleep already taking you as Bill throws the covers over the both of you and turns out the light.

***

Pancakes happen Monday morning.

Followed by making out.

It’s pretty great.

You completely ignore any and all articles and videos about yourself and pray the press will just leave you be for the day so you can fully unwind and prepare to perform again on Tuesday (and maybe make out with Bill some more)

On Instagram, Sara posts a series of pictures of her and Josh: holding hands, her kissing his cheek, him kissing her cheek, looking at each other adoringly. You leave a comment: “you’re welcome.”

You read through the slew of texts John Mulaney bombarded you with last night but refused to read until this morning. You don’t reply.

Annamarie sends a link to ONE picture from the afterparty, of you and Bill dancing, commenting on its adorableness. You thank her. (Which prompts John to text you “I SEE YOU TEXTING MY WIFE AND NOT ME. I’M DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR YOURS AND BILL’S HAPPINESS AND SUBSEQUENTLY YOUR SHOW AND YOUR SUCCESS.” You leave him on read.)

You end up making one post on Instagram (with Bill’s approval): a side-by-side of the picture of you and Bill dancing at the party last night, and a picture of Bill hugging you after the first off-Broadway performance. (You’d walked offstage, changed out of your costume, and when you walked out of the dressing room, Bill was in the hallway. And you ran into his arms and began crying into his chest as he whispered how amazing the show was and how proud he was of you and how much he loved you and you were just…so emotionally overwhelmed.) (Josh had snapped the picture secretly and showed it to you later. You’d asked him to send it to you.)

The caption for the two pictures reads:

_loves me now, loved me then. screwiness and all. :)_

**Author's Note:**

> feedback welcome and appreciated.


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